


The Trooper of the Snow

by phooykazooi



Series: From One Star to the Next [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Bisexual Disaster Dyn Djarin, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Force-Sensitive Corin, Gay Disaster Corin Valentis, I love these relationship tags, M/M, Past Brainwashing, Tags May Change, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Mandalorian is Trying His Best, god what a tag, no beta we die like men, poor corin has a lot of shit to work thru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phooykazooi/pseuds/phooykazooi
Summary: CN-113 is having the worst luck of his life. He's stuck in a freezing cave with the galaxy's Number One Most Deadly bounty hunter, debating whether or not he should give the guy his emergency thermal blanket.The kid, at least, could use it.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret) & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: From One Star to the Next [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694911
Comments: 52
Kudos: 584
Collections: Movies





	1. Through the Howling Blizzard Winds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Rescue and Regret](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21648874) by [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina). 
  * Inspired by [have you heard](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798602) by [peradi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peradi/pseuds/peradi). 
  * Inspired by [we are all stardust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5682496) by [synergenic (Losseflame)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Losseflame/pseuds/synergenic). 



> I got bit by the Mandorin bug

CN-113 is having a very bad day. 

It was supposed to be an easy patrol. There was  _ not  _ supposed to be a Mandalorian  _ anywhere  _ near him. And, if by horribly bad luck, a Mandalorian  _ happened  _ to be shot out of the sky,  _ it was not supposed to happen on CN-113’s planet.  _

No. Just— _ no. _

But now, here CN-113 is, sitting in a cave, the last surviving member of his team, watching as the Mandalorian uses his own cloak to wrap and rewrap a little green bean of a baby. 

What in the hells is he going to do now?

The child is cold. It must be. It’s literally freezing in this place, and there’s a blizzard raging outside their chilly shelter. According to his HUD, the ambient temperature is hostile to most sentient lifeforms, and the baby  _ has  _ to be suffering. 

The storage unit at the small CN-113’s back digs into his skin. His armor is well-suited against the cold, but every Snowtrooper carries emergency supplies. In the storage capsule is a thermal blanket; it would protect him even in the worst storms. If he doesn’t give it to the child, what kind of bad luck would dog him?

CN-113 clears his throat. “I, uh. I have a thermal blanket, if you want it.”

The Mandalorian watches him from across the cave. Voice colder than the mountain air, he says, “In exchange for what?”

CN-113 blinks at him. “Um. Nothing?”

The faceplate tilts. His armour soaks in the filtered sunlight, making the Mandalorian glow. His silence is weighted. 

“I—My armour’s insulated, so…I don’t really need it. But, uh…” He trails off, very carefully not looking at the small bundle cradled in strong arms. He has the feeling that if so much as glances at the infant, he’ll be killed before he could blink. 

“Give it to me,” the Mandalorian orders. “Slowly.”

CN-113 does. He telegraphs every movement, being sure to project  _ calm _ and  _ security.  _ He has the capsule in hand and is about to roll it to his (captor? Storm-sheltering buddy?) when the Mandalorian stops him.

“Open it.”

CN-113 obeys and shows the other man a plain white thermal blanket, tucked into its confines. The Mandalorian stands, smoothly picking up the rifle and stalks across the cavern floor. CN-113 freezes as he comes within arm’s reach. The Mandalorian holds out a hand, palm up, and waits. 

CN-113 clumsily removes the thermal and gives it to him, quickly busying himself with returning the empty capsule to his utility belt while the baby is rewrapped in the blanket. When he next looks up, the Mandalorian has returned to his position, now draped by his cape. 

The silence stretches. The dark drags on. CN-113 wishes fiercely he could see the stars. He loves how bright they are here, away from light pollution, on this tiny base in the middle of nowhere. The Crystal Planet is a dark planet, suspended in ice and is of no interest to anyone. 

The Mandalorian’s voice breaks his reverie. “Your name,” he asks. “What is it?”

(“Corin,” says Carrie. “What do you think of the name Conx?”

CN-110 stares with wide, dark eyes, attentive and apprehensive. 

“Conx,” Corin quotes, tasting it. “What about it, Conx? That sounds like a thing that could belong to you?”

CN-110 mulls it over, brows drawn and expression deathly serious. Finally, he nods. “Conx,” he says definitively. His youthful, pudgy cheeks flush and a smile blossoms on his face, making him seem even younger than he already is. He nods again, eyes shining like the stars, and concludes, “I’m Conx.”)

For the first time in his life, he calls himself by his name. “My name is Corin,” says Corin, head held high. 


	2. Through the Wind and the Snow

The child must be feeling better, because it starts to become restless. Its guardian calms it with low, almost unintelligible words, too soft for Corin’s audio processing unit to decipher. Yet, despite his best efforts, an absolutely  _ miniscule  _ hand pops out of the blanket and delicately pulls down the edge. A wrinkly face peeks out from the depths. It’s, like, eighty percent eyes.

Corin shifts, wondering if he should tell the Mandalorian to adjust the blanket. The Mandalorian places one comically huge finger against the top of its head, and the little thing stills. Then,  _ it squeaks angrily.  _

The Mandalorian huffs. As Corin listens, he comes to the abrupt realization that the man isn’t speaking Common, but something more musical. Corin  _ burns _ with curiosity. What is the language called? Is it Mandalorian? Can Corin learn, too? 

He can’t just  _ ask  _ that.

...Can he?

(“Compliance,” says his general during reeducation, “is key. You are a Stormtrooper in service to the Empire. You will live for the Empire and you will die for the Empire.” The general regards him with green, green eyes. CN-113 feels naked without his armour, vulnerable and shaken. He’s standing in a whiteless room, an exam table at his right. 

The general continues, “Do you understand your place in the Empire, CN-113?”

“Yes, sir,” CN-113 replies, heart in his throat. 

Sharp emerald eyes glitter in the fluorescent light. “No,” he drawls. “I don’t think you do.”)

Corin keeps his mouth shut.

—————————

Corin doesn’t know it, but he meditates. 

He’s been on the Crystal Planet for nearing three years. When the mood strikes him (every day, if possible), he takes his personal allotment time at the highest point in the base. Up there, he can see the mountains for what they really are: majestic works of art, marching from one horizon to the next, snowy caps exhaling steam like a locomotive, dreamlike and fantastical. He would sit cross-legged in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, breathing in the crisp air and allowing his thoughts to flutter like the falling snow.

Here and now, he slips into a kind of trance. There’s nothing to do but listen to the raging blizzard and the howling winds, so that’s what he does. 

He imagines the blizzard, biting and disruptive. He pictures every individual snowflake, billions, no,  _ trillions _ of ice crystals tumbling to and fro. They are a slave to the winds, going only where the angry gusts take them, swirling and spinning. He imagines his negative thoughts as the snow, lets them tumble from his mind and disperse into the storm. The wind will take what it pleases and blow away what’s left, and he will be happy to be rid of the burden. 

There’s a trill from across the cave. He opens his eyes, somewhat startled, and watches as the alien baby watches him. Corin has discovered that it has ears, and those ears are  _ ginormous.  _ He peers at the Mandalorian, but is relieved to see he isn’t staring at Corin. His faceplate is turned towards his general direction, but Corin detects a sense of disinterest. He’s alert, but he’s not paying attention.

Corin wriggles his fingers in a daring, discreet wave. 

The baby’s ears perk. Its grip on the outer edge of the blanket tightens. Another hand drifts out of the pile, three-fingered and fragile. Its fingers curl and open, curl and open.

Corin cannot contain his grin. Amusement bubbles in his belly and he carelessly asks, “What’s its name?”

The Mandalorian pointedly covers the face of his charge. “It doesn’t have one,” he replies coolly. 

Corin’s brows knit together.  _ Strange, _ he thinks,  _ doesn’t every sentient lifeform have a name? _ Still, he doesn’t push his luck.

...Not on that subject, anyway. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” is the response. 

Corin  _ knows  _ he shouldn’t continue, he  _ does _ , but the words tumble from his traitorous mouth. “That’s the… _ thing _ everyone is after.”

At this, the Mandalorian’s T-visor tilts. Corin suddenly understands how a bug pinned to a board feels. He says nothing and Corin follows his example, biting his lip to keep himself silent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't really know where i'm going with this tbh


	3. Through the Days and the Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >:)

The storm passes, as every storm does. 

* * *

They get to the base. Corin rejoins his fellow troopers and the Mandalorian escapes. 

For Corin, it’s the beginning of the end.

* * *

They inspect his gear. They question him about the empty storage unit. 

“I took the blanket out for bedding,” he lies. “Forgot to put it back.”

* * *

Whether or not they believe him, he’s punished anyway.

* * *

It’s the third strike on his record. He’s being decommissioned.

* * *

By a true stroke of luck, they don’t do the procedure on his Crystal Planet. They load him up on a transport and are soon en route to his final destination. 

* * *

The thing is: the transport is targeted by the Rebel Alliance. 

* * *

The rebels believe him to be an ordinary dissenter, just some guy that back-talked the wrong Imperial soldier. 

He doesn’t tell them the truth.

* * *

He’s dumped at some no-name dwarf planet and essentially left to fend for himself.

“You’re sure you won’t come with us?” aks T’sar, a human pilot. “I’m sure we could find some work for you on our base.” 

Corin tries to smile. “No, thank you.”

It’s not so bad. He wanders the dilapidated town, searching for a job, and finds one at the tavern. They need someone to sweep and dust and help with the dishes when the turnout is higher than usual (which is never). He spends the nights on the streets, curled up in the gutter and dreaming of his past. 

He gets a lucky break a few days after the Rebels drop him off.

Another store needs someone who is good with their hands and knows their way around a droid, both tasks Corin is more than qualified for. The shop is owned by an old Twi’lek named Thallas. She takes one look at him and says, “Got a spare room. Use it.”

So, he does. 

He makes money and buys new clothes. He makes more money and buys a medical kit. He makes more money and uses it to buy a sewing needle and thread.

“Abysmal,” Thallas says as he makes his first attempt to sew a hole in his pants. “No, no, no, you’re doin’ it all wrong, kid. Here, I’ll show you,” and she teaches him. 

He works and he makes money, he works and makes money, he works and he makes money, and that’s how the weeks pass. He makes enough money to pay rent, though Thallas never accepts. It’s kind of her, but he leaves a separate stash of cash exclusively for the rent. He’ll pay her back when he leaves. It’d be bad luck, otherwise. 

* * *

He never expected to see either the Mandalorian or the baby green bean, so you can imagine his surprise when he almost steps over the child. He’s behind the bar, wiping glasses when he senses a presence at his feet. He looks down and nearly drops the glass in surprise. The child even smaller than he remembers, positively drowning in the drab shawl it wears, huge ears held high and dark eyes somber. 

Corin’s glass clatters to the counter and he instantly bends to pick up the child. By the stars, he can hold its  _ entire body  _ in one hand! It’s so light! It’s like he’s holding a fuzzy green cloud! How could the Mandalorian have taken it to a place like this?

Corin scans the tavern for the eye-catching Beskar armor, holding the baby anxiously to his chest, and spots the Mandalorian in the far corner. Corin steps out from the bar, intending to call out, but hesitates when he sees that the hunter has company. Bounty hunting business, Corin concludes, and takes a seat at the bar. He’d best stay here until the Mandalorian’s friends leave. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:D


	4. Through Work

After some time, the Mandalorian’s company departs. He watches them leave, his T-visor following their path. He would have  _ had _ to seen Corin, sitting at the bar in the middle of the tavern,  _ right in the middle of the tavern itself.  _ He  _ must  _ know that Corin is holding his child. The man’s a skilled warrior and an adept fighter. That means he’s  _ got  _ to be perceptive, right?

Oh,  _ shit. _ The Mandalorian’s faceplate stares hard at Corin. He gulps, feeling like a prey animal caught in a predator’s gaze. 

The child coos. It’s looking at him with its ears all wide and its eyes boring into him. 

Corin gathers the tattered remains of his courage and walks purposefully to the Mandalorian. He’s sweating. His heart is going to beat right of his chest. Will the Mandalorian recognize him? Will he honestly believe that this was an accident?

“Um,” says Corin, thoughtlessly clutching the baby. “Is this yours?”

The Mandalorian stares at him, then lowers his piercing gaze to the child. After an eternity, he says, “Yes,” and stands to retrieve his wayward charge. 

Corin rubs his empty hands together. He feels cold now, even though the baby did not radiate warmth as a human did, and his arms feel bereft. He clears his throat. “Okay. Cool. Uh.” He points to the unoccupied bar. “I’m going back to work. It was—um. Good meeting you. Bye.” He flees.

He didn’t see the Mandalorian leave but the next time he looks, the table is vacated. His shift ends without further fanfare. Corin accepts his pay and returns to the mechanic’s residence. 

For some reason, he can’t shake the feeling he’s being followed.

* * *

It stays with him throughout the next day. 

He works full-time at Thallas Mechanics, fixing broken radiators and malfunctioning droids. After the Empire fell, diversity was key. Many soldiers had to do many tasks. The equipment on the Crystal Planet was way outdated and needed constant repairs. He supposes it’s lucky that he’s a fast learner and that his interests vary. Without those skills, he’d never be able to pull his own weight. 

The door opens. The bell jingles. Corin opens his mouth to greet the customer— 

But there’s no one there. 

The door closes on an empty store. 

Corin lowers his tools. He rounds the counter and surveys the room. He shrugs and returns to his position.

From another room, something crashes.

Corin palms his knife (another thing that he had bought for himself) and stealthily locates the noise. He passes through the archway, lithely stepping over strewn mechanical parts, and frowns. A bowl of hard-earned fruit was upended, its contents scattered on the floor. Corin rights the bowl and refills it, returning it to the table. Behind him, metal loudly meets the ground. He spins around and barks, “Who’s there?”

Bat-like ears poke out from behind the display. They’re green, and so is the wrinkled face of the Mandalorian’s child. 

Corin slumps. “Again? How do you keep finding me, little guy? Huh? Did you put a tracker on me?”

“No,” says the Mandalorian. He’s standing in the open doorway, his hands at his sides and his cape flowing dramatically. 

Corin instinctively flings the knife at the man’s uncovered throat. It is narrowly dodged, sinking hilt-deep into the closing wooden door and quivering with tension. Corin blanches as the Mandalorian’s helmet faces him. His voice fails him when he attempts to apologize. 

The Mandalorian doesn’t comment, instead he yanks the knife from its hole and strides to Corin, who is frozen to the spot in terror. It’s flipped hilt-first and presented to Corin, like a formality. “Good throw,” the Mandalorian praises.

“Um,” Corin squeaks, numbly taking the knife. 

The Mandalorian does not seem to expect a more thorough explanation. He moves to the child and kneels to pick it up. He straightens with it cradled in one arm. His faceplate is turned to Corin, his body language lax. “You work here?” he asks.

“Uh. Yes?”

“Thought you worked at the bar.”

“I mean—I do? I just...work here, too.” He winces at the unsure explanation. He doesn’t know what to do here. “Ah...Do—do you need something repaired?”

He takes a moment to respond. “Yes. My ship could use some patchwork.” 


	5. Chapter 5

The  _ Razor Crest  _ has seen better days. 

Corin takes in the blaster marks, the trashed engines, the older battlescars. The Mandalorian did basic maintenance, but she could use some TLC. 

“Can you fix it?” he asks. The child is at his feet, clinging to his cape.

_ I can damn well try, _ Corin thinks. “I’ll do what I can,” he promises. 

It takes two days, but he fixes the ship. Thallas’ expertise is instrumental, and when he’s out of his depth, she tutors him. It will take a more specialized engineer to the  _ Razor Crest  _ purr, but she’ll fly all the same. 

They negotiate payment. Strangely, the Mandalorian is dissatisfied.

_ “Take the full payment,”  _ the Mandalorian seethes.

_ “No,”  _ Corin hotly denies.

_ “Why not?” _

_ “Accept the discount.” _

_ “No.” _

It gets so heated that Thallas is drawn to the commotion. She walks to the men, who are forehead-to-visor, shoulders squared and fists clenched. “What is going on here?” she asks.

The two pause. Corin says, “He’s not accepting the discount.”

The twi’lek’s  _ lekku _ twitch ominously. Softly, she says,  _ “What discount?” _

Corin gulps. He shuffles his feet, hunches his shoulders. “Um. You know. The discount. It’s—It’s just…ten percent.”

_ “Of the full amount,”  _ the Mandalorian grits.

Corin crosses his arms, ducks his head. He mumbles.

“Speak up, boy!” Thallas commands.

“He changed my life!” Corin shouts. “He deserves a discount!”

Thallas sucks in air for a truly devastating rebuttal, but the Mandalorian interrupts her. “Corin,” he says, as though it were a revelation. “From the shitty ice planet.”

Corin rounds on him.  _ “Fuck  _ you, the Crystal Planet was literal heaven—” He stops. His mouth dries with fear. “You remember me.” 

The Mandalorian sweeps up the child, turns on his heel, and strides to his ship. Over his shoulder, he says, “We need to talk.”

Corin moves to blindly follow, but a tight grip on his forearm halts him. Thallas flatly says, “Services rendered first.”

Without missing a beat, the Mandalorian tosses her a fat pouch, far too full for the work Corin had done. Eyes wide, Thallas releases him to hold the stuffed pouch with both hands. The brunette sends her a beseeching look, but she only bounces the object and flashes him an impish grin. Corin resigns himself to his fate.

Well, at least the last thing he’ll see is the child. There are worse ways to go. 

———

“You’re the Snowtrooper,” says the Mandalorian in the shade of his ship. “How did you get here?”

Corin resists the urge to poke his fingers together. “Ah, well.” He fumbles for words. Is there a right answer? “I was going to be… demoted, but my transport—it was boarded by Rebels.”

“And you got away from them?” he questions. 

Corin clears his throat. “Ah, no. Not—not really.” 

“Not really,” he repeats, deadpan.

Corin nods. “They, uh. They just thought I was a prisoner. Because I was on a, um…prison transport ship.”

Slower, disbelievingly, the hunter says, “You were demoted and being transported on an Imperial prison carrier.” 

Corin coughs. “Yeah. Basically.”

The child trills. Its body is oriented towards Corin, its full attention on him. 

He averts his eyes and says to the floor, “They dropped me off here. The Rebels. It’s been—it’s been fine. I’ve been working, you know. Making money.” 

The hunter has nothing to say to that. 

Uncomfortable with the silence, Corin says, “So, anyway, I’ll leave you to it. Um, good seeing—I mean, safe travels.”

The Mandalorian does not stop him when he leaves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, dyn won't be able to stay away


	6. Awkward Beginnings

As the  _ Razor Crest  _ breaks atmosphere and disappears, Corin stands in the dirt and watches the Mandalorian’s departure. 

The child, apparently, hadn’t gotten the memo. 

There’s a trill at Corin’s feet, soft and babyish. Corin whips his gaze down and stares at the little thing, who is looking at him with big brown eyes. 

“You are a rambunctious little bean, aren’t you?” he says to it. 

It chirps. 

He sighs. “Well, I hope you can tolerate me long enough for your papa to notice you’re gone.” He leans down and scoops it into his arms. He has some blank blueprint sheets he doesn’t mind sacrificing and some very nice pencils. “Have you ever drawn before, baby bean?” he asks as he steps into the shop and out of the blistering heat. 

Thallas retrieves the supplies to keep the child occupied, and Corin lays on the floor and draws with it. Thallas, old Twi’lek that she is, is more than happy to sit in her armchair and watch. 

“My spawn are all over the galaxy,” she says affectionately. “Most of ‘em got kids of their own. They visit when they can.”

_ What’s it like, being a parent?  _ Corin almost asks.

The front door slams open. The Mandalorian stalks inside, halting at the hodge podge playpen. The child looks past its drawings and blinks slowly at its father. The pencil falls from its comically tiny hand and then it gets to its feet and toddles forward, careful to avoid the paper scattered on the floor. It pauses at the Mandalorian’s feet and looks up and up and up, then it holds its little arms out demandingly. The Mandalorian sighs and does as it bids, holding it in strong, secure arms. He glances at a chortling Thallas, and then at Corin. 

Stars, Corin’s face is probably doing something  _ stupidly  _ emotional. 

“Thank you,” says the Mandalorian. 

“Um, you’re welcome?” he stammers. “I—It’s a cute kid.” 

He takes this response seriously, inclining his head in a regal nod. And then, he just. Stands there. Staring. 

Corin feels himself break out into a cold sweat. “Ah, is—is—is there s-something you…need?”

This, too, the Mandalorian studiously considers. At length, he says, “Come with us.”

Corin’s eyes bug out of his head. He gawps. 

Patiently, the warrior in shining Beskar armor waits for the decision. 

“W-w-w-what do you mean?  _ Me?  _ What?”

“Yes,” he states. “I want you to join us. This kid…” He and the child exchange deep eye contact. “It can be a lot for one person to manage. And it…likes you.” At last, his T-visor lifts, pinning Corin in place. “ _ I  _ like you. Come with us.”

Corin has seven possessions to his name. The knife, a hairbrush, a toothbrush, a necklace, and two outfits, plus the medkit. Thallus might gift him a bag to carry all his worldly things. He’ll be able to pay her back for her generosity—though he may need to hide the credits so she won’t reject them. Corin glances at her. She’s watching with this wicked glint in her eye, one corner of her lips lifted in sheer amusement. SHe catches his eye and her  _ lekku  _ raise in encouragement. 

The words stick in his throat. He struggles to speak until, finally, he rasps, “Do--Can I have a bag, or…? Just--I don’t have much.”

She snorts. “Sure, kid. I’ll get you something to carry your things.” She leaves and putters around the back, mumbling faintly to herself. 

The Mandalorian clears his throat. He thrusts the child out like a sack of potatoes and Corin rushes to accept the precious cargo. “Here. I’ll be in the ship. Come down when you’re ready.” He turns on his heel and prowls out the door. 

Corin blinks at the empty shop, the child calm in his hold. He slides his hand to the back of its neck, cradles the little head. It looks at him with old, brown eyes, too big and too wise for its head. It regards him warmly, its ears high and its hands waving. 

His smile, when it comes, is tremulous. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For now, it's finished!!! I'm afraid I lack the motivation to continue rn, but rest assured I have a rough outline ready for next part of the series (it's gonna be a series omg!!)

**Author's Note:**

> more to come ;)
> 
> (omg I read one Mandorin fic and then another and then i read them ALL)


End file.
